Ice Cage
by Cella N
Summary: She hates being useless. HERMIONE. BLAISE. On exile, supermarkets, and letters never written.


**Title:** Ice Cage 1/1  
**Author:** Cella  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** She hates being useless. HERMIONE. BLAISE. On exile, supermarkets, and letters never written.  
**Words:** 2732 wow, long story, Luce!  
**A/N:** Answer to Lucia de' Medici who asked for City Life, Struggle, those lyrics, and B/Hr. I chose Canada, thinking about you, and about LD. Hope you like it, Luce.  
**Song listened to while writing fic:** David Bowie feat. Maynard from Tool: "Bring Me The Disco King loner mix" Recommended!

**Ice Cage**

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first  
Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse  
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words  
We live on front porches and swing life away,  
We get by just fine here on minimum wage  
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,  
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand_

_**Rise Against, Swing Life Away**_

There's an ink smudge on the piece of parchment.

She tries to clean it up, but her hands are shaking. Her mother tells her it's the stress. She laughs bitterly at the thought. There is no stress where she is, there in the middle of nowhere. She has nothing against Canada, but the distance from England and the cold sometimes got to her. The city where they have her exiled, Edmonton, is pretty in its own way, but to her it's not home.

She sighs and leaves the quill back on the table.

The War with Voldemort is over at last, but there's another war, an inner struggle of the survivors. Those who know what it's like to be a prisoner of the Dark Lord, those who know how it is to be a spy, always on the run and never safe enough. Those who know that because of their contribution in the war, they are not safe from the small groups of remaining Death Eaters.

Hermione's family is the first family to be exiled, they're the prototype. They say goodbye to friends and family, promise to write back sometimes always in code, always untraceable, and embark on an airplane destiny Edmonton, Alberta, in the west of Canada.

Two weeks have passed since she left her friends back in England, two weeks of time to settle in, know the surroundings, and make friends. Two weeks of solitude, two weeks trapped in a foreign house, a foreign land, a foreign room with a waste basket filled up with failed attempts at a letter.

Hermione hates being useless, hates this feeling inside her, like a bird trapped inside a cage made of ice, with no holes left to breathe through. She loses her breath, she freezes.

She's tried writing a letter to her friends every day. She wants to write, smiles when she sits at the table, quill in hand. And she sits at her table for hours and hours, staring at a blank piece of parchment, holding her quill tight so that it doesn't tremble within her hand. After a few hours like that, she sighs (she's close to crying in anger), and writes a quick "_I'm okay_" note, which she sends through an owl.

The days pass on like this, tense and lonely. Her parents are trying to adapt themselves to their new jobs, so it's normally only her for breakfast and lunch. Sometimes she cooks dinner for them, and leaves it in the fridge. In the morning she finds the dinner there, untouched.

There's a bird trapped in an ice cage, tired of struggling.

------

Three months pass, and she finally thinks of getting a job. She needs something to keep her mind occupied. She's cleaned the house three hundred times already, and every day you find her in front of a window, scratching away invisible dirt. (When she's actually trying to break free.)

She knows by now that it's impossible for her to get a job involving magic. She doesn't want to give away traces of herself, she's hiding from the wizarding world. She finds a job in a supermarket near-by, where she does everything from cleaning, selling and helping customers. The only thing she hates is that smile they make her wear all day. (It hurts her face.)

Monday is the hardest day for her. She has to wake up early, but never early enough to see her parents leave for work (they barely see each other now), she gets dressed, eats and rides a rusty bicycle through the cold weather. When she's at work on Monday, it's always 'clean this' 'check that', 'wear uniform' 'smile at customer', 'be happy!'. Monday is her least favourite day.

The bird is slowly running out of breath, and freezing.

------

It's the beginning a December, and she has dark circles under her eyes. (She stays up at night, trying to write a letter to her friends.) She's sitting behind the information counter, alone, and waiting (hoping) some distracted customer has bought something which they didn't need, or wants to know what's where, or how to change a gift. She's hoping someone will come, anyone, to keep her company.

A bag of groceries is dropped on her counter, and a face comes from behind it. (There's something familiar about it.)

"Hello, may I help you?" she asks, smiling at the customer.

"Um, yeah…I bought a present for my neighbour yesterday," he says, lifting up a book. ("The DaVinci Code." She's read that one.) "Thing is, he already has it, so I would like to change it for another book."

"Well, um…we can give you a refund, and you could buy another book with that money," she says, looking at his face, because damn it's familiar.

"Okay, that'd be nice," he answers and smiles, white teeth clashing with a dark face.

"Um…do you have the ticket on you?" she asks.

"Yeah, here, it's gotta be somewhere here," he mutters, and goes through his pockets.

Hermione smiles inwardly, and props her chin on her hand, patiently waiting. (She's so tired.) She studies the man's profile, from his high cheekbones, the slanted, long eyes, full lips and a prominent jaw she licks her lips, unaware. The man furrows his eyebrows, still looking though the pockets and Hermione's eye widen.

"Have I met you before?" she asks, straightening her back.

He looks up at her, (he looks like a deer caught in the light) and then looks back down. "Um…I don't think so…I've lived here all my life…" he stammers over his words.

"How do you know I haven't lived here all my life also?" Hermione asks, squinting her eyes at him.

"I never saw you in school," he answers, shrugging lightly.

"Oh…okay…never mind then," she says, defeated.

"Here," he says in a soft voice, and hands her the ticket. (He looks a bit…sorry.)

She types something into her computer, and takes out the money. "Here you go sir, your money back. Thank you for shopping with us, and have a nice day," she finishes with a smile. (One of those smiles that hurt her.)

The man smiles at her, and turns to leave. She's half way through a sigh when the man turns around again.

"You wouldn't happen to know any good books for my neighbour, would you?" he asks her, placing his bag of groceries down, and leaning in on the counter.

"Um…well, what type of books does he like?"

"Mystery, intrigue, action. I thought this one was a good book, but he had it already."

"Oh, it is a great book," she answers, feeling warm and alive (because of this talk, because of this man, because of this conversation). "I'd recommend it to you. But if you want one that he is likely to not have, try something by Ken Follet. He's not very read here in Canada. I think they've got a novel by him in the book section, aisle 3."

"Thanks," he says, grinning at her. She expects him to leave, but he lingers a few moments longer, just_ looking _at her. Then with another smile, he picks up his bag, and leaves her alone with her counter.

The bird in the cage is trying to lift her head up to the surface.

------

Sometimes, when she thinks of her job, she wants to cry and break _somethingsmashsomethingkillsomethingsomeone_. She sneers at the person looking back at her from behind the mirror. (_Look at you. Top of your school, in the last 50 years, and you're a stupid employee of a stupid supermarket in a stupid city in the middle of fucking nowhere! I hate you. I hate you because you're useless, useless for Harry, for Ron, for your family, for you. I hate you, because you're always tired, because you're giving. You never gave up before, why start now? God, I hate you_…)

She's working at the cashier the next time she sees him. She looks up from her screen, and offers a quick smile. She passes his groceries through the cashier milk, eggs, pasta, some bacon, and a bottle of Jack Daniels, and makes the check.

"That's 19, 25 dollars, please," she says, smiling up at him. He looks through his wallet and takes out a 20$ bill. When he hands it to her, she leans in to whisper, "Planing a big night?" , pointing at the groceries.

He smirks, "Yes, I plan to drink myself to sleep. The food is for tomorrow morning."

She chuckles, and gives him back his change. "Have a nice night then."

"Thanks. Keep the change," he says, and grabbing his bags, he leaves.

"Erm…thanks…" she whispers to empty air. "Next?"

The bird in the cage is trying to stand up.

------

Hermione is upset, because of all people, it has to be _her_ the one who has to work on Christmas Night. The store is full to the top with customers who buy things at the last moment. She barely had time to blink that morning, the people just kept coming, and she had to work.

She suspected her mother was at home, cooking up her famous Christmas dinner. Her father is probably smoking his pipe, reading a book of his. Her room is dark, untidy (she has no _time_ with the job and all), stuffy from lack of air. The Christmas tree is decorated (how, she doesn't know, she hasn't seen it). Yet she is here, working, because she needs the money, because she wants to work, because she wants to move away from that house, because she wants to break _free_. And there is a price for FREEDOM.

The supermarket is full of late shoppers, and the shelves are almost empty. There is a long line at every cashier, and she's at the very end, the last one, number 20. She gives people the change back with a smile, and everyone wishes her a Merry Christmas. (_Right, Merry Christmas. Stuck in a supermarket all day, till nine. Well, Merry Christmas back to you, and why don't you stab me before you leave?)_

"Working on such a day?" a voice (she's gotten familiar to) asks her as she cashes a pack of Mallboro cigarettes, and a bottle of red porto wine.

"I need the money," she mutters, typing something into the computer, smiling slightly. "Shopping on such a day?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Late necessities," he answers, a small smirk on his lips as he prepares the money.

"10'95 plese." He gives her the money (their hands brush lightly), and she gives him the change. "Thanks for shopping with us. Have a nice day and a Merry Christmas," she drones the remaining of the goodbye. "Next, please."

A woman and her small, blonde daughter steps up in line, and Hermione starts cashing her groceries. She feels his presence still there, and looks through the corner of her eye to find him leaning on the cashier's end, smirking at her.

"5'25, Mrs. Smith," she says to the woman, and then turns around to look at him. "Haven't you left the shop yet?"

"No, actually, I'm keeping you company," he answers, and lights up a cigarette.

"Thanks for shopping us, have a Merry Christmas, Mrs. Smith. You too, Sheryll!" she says to the woman and the girl as they leave. As the next person in line steps in front of her, she reproaches, without even looking at him, "I don't like smoking."

"It's not you who smokes. A person can have their vices," he drawls, watching her attentively as she says goodbye to three clients before turning to him.

"So, are you going to stay here long?"

"You seem annoyed."

"I am. That's 3'15$, thank you."

"When does your shift end?"

"At nine o'clock. Merry Christmas, kids."

"Then I'll keep you company till then."

She shrugs, "It's your wasted time." They continue like this until nine in the evening. She divides between talking to him, talking to clients, and doing her job, while he smokes cigarette after cigarette.

At nine o'clock, she says goodbye to her last customer, and closes the cashier, leaving it ready for the next turn. She leaves him standing there as she goes to change her clothes. She expects to find him gone when she comes back, ten minutes later, but he's still there, still smoking.

"You seriously have no plans tonight, except for pestering me?" she asks, adjusting the scarf around her neck. (Her old Gryffindor scarf is at home, in her room.)

"No, just pestering you, and then going home and getting wasted."

"Well, you did keep me company…" she trails off, thinking to herself. (Her mother would love some company, she supposed. A luck her parents weren't racists.( "How do you feel about eggnog?"

He scrunches up his nose, "Can't stand it."

"Great, neither can my family. If you want to, you can come join us for a real Christmas dinner, not just wine and fags."

He looks at her, making eye contact (his eyes are dark blue), looking somewhat touched. And answers, "Okay."

The bird in the cage is on her feet, hitting the cage with its beak, trying to break free.

------

Hermione is quiet through the whole dinner, watching closely as her new friend talks with his parents, smiling and being happy. (She remembers him now.)

She stands up from the table, saying that she needs some fresh air before desert, and leaves the room. From her balcony, she can see the empty street, and the decorated houses.

"Everyone's in the Christmas spirit, except for you," his voice reaches her.

She looks down at her hands. "Why did you lie to me when I asked you if we met before?" she asks.

"We're supposed to be here in hiding. Me, as much as you. I couldn't have told you then, and I wasn't supposed to tell you now."

"We weren't supposed to coincide in the town. They were supposed to send each exiled person to a different location."

"I'm here on surveillance," he whispers, joining her in leaning against the cold rail.

"Surveilance?" she asks, looking at him.

His eyes are observing the streets in front of him, looking as sad and tired as her. "Yeah, I'm supposed to be your Secret Keeper."

She freezes, right there, on her spot. (_My Secret Keeper? But it's supposed to be someone I trust! Someone I actually **know.** And yet, she does know him. A bit_.)

"Potter and the Order sent me when you stopped writing letters," he continues whispering. "I was supposed to look after you, but I was stupid, and started talking to you, and well…here I am…"

She bites her lip, and places a hand on his gloved one. "I never knew what to write. I stared at the parchment for hours, and ended up tossing it in the garbage bin, angry at myself. I never thought they'd appoint a Secret Keeper to me."

"They did it, right before you left country. Hermione…I suppose you're mad with me…"

"No. No, I'm…not mad. Just surprised that I never recognized, or remembered you." She looks at him, unaware that he's drawing circles over her hand. "You changed a lot since the last time I saw you at Slughorn's parties. I never caught you at the Order meetings."

"Yeah…well, I never was a social person. But these last two months have been okay. The brief encounters, I mean."

"It's the quality, right?" she asks, smiling at him. They both become aware that they're holding hands under the start, they must look like a pair of lovers and let go quickly, blushing.

He looks down at her, and frowns. In one move, he leans down, and leaves a kiss on her reddened cheek. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

She smiles at him. "Merry Christmas, Blaise."

The ice cage cracks and the bird inhales the fresh air.

:end:


End file.
